


she can shoot

by weatheredlaw



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Bottoming, Dildos, F/M, Orgasm Control, Pegging, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Topping, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 07:05:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He made a New Year's resolution about this, right? He wasn't gonna hook up with Bobbi, just because they were on the same team now? Was he drunk when he said that? Probably. He's usually drunk when he starts making grand, totally impossible promises to people who are only listening so they can laugh at him later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	she can shoot

**Author's Note:**

> Marvel, Clint Barton/Bobbi Morse, pegging, beg, love, first, rain, rough, dominate, burn, hard, secret, reconciliation, walls, breakfast | for alltheporn

Twenty minutes ago, they were screaming blood fucking murder at one another.

But then, that's usually how it goes. Clint does something wrong (again) and Bobbi goes off on him (again) and they're at each others' throats and it goes from being about what a shit-for-brains leader Clint is to what a colossal mess they've managed to make of their collective lives. As a courtesy to others, they wait until they're alone to start in on one another.

Clint can't really say, though, that he's not pleased with the outcome this time around. Bobbi finally throws her hands up in frustration, grabs his face and kisses him full on the mouth. And, yeah, he's changing tracks, going zero to sixty in less than ten seconds, and licking his way into her mouth as his hands fumble with the wet metal of her zipper. 

It's been raining for six hours. They fought outside in the storm for three. Clint's feeling chilly. He's a hundred percent sure getting naked is a good idea. He's really glad they decided to finish their fight at Bobbi's place. 

Other great ideas keep going through his head. About how much he wants to go down on her. About how hard he's gonna get judged for this. About the look Kate's going to give him when she finds out. And Steve. And everyone. He made a New Year's resolution about this, right? He wasn't gonna hook up with Bobbi, just because they were on the same team now? Was he drunk when he said that? Probably. He's usually drunk when he starts making grand, totally impossible promises to people who are only listening so they can laugh at him later.

"I wanna fuck you," Bobbi says over Clint's internal monologue and it's enough to bring him out of his sex-induced fog.

"Huh?"

"I have a strap-on and I wanna fuck you," she says, biting his ear. Clint moans. "Come on, baby. We used to all the time."

"Oh, I remember." Clint totally does not remember. No wait. He does. LA, about a year into their marriage. Yeah, he was pretty into that. He could be into it again. It's been a while, but hell. It's been a while for the two of them in general. Bobbi grins and slides down the length of his body, pressing her mouth to the bed of his knee before vanishing into her closet and coming back with a dark strap on and a pale blue dildo. Clint's mouth goes dry as he watches her buckle it.

He remembers the way she used to do this. With the confidence of someone who knew she was trusted, who could trust back. Now she takes the lube from her bedside table with shaky hands and keeps meeting his gaze, asking without words: _Is this okay? Do you still want this?_ And Clint just keeps smiling and rubbing his hands over her legs reassuringly. She gestures for him to turn, and Clint rolls over, propping himself up on his elbows and knees and feeling her free hand rest on the small of his back. "S'okay," he says gently. "Birdie--"

"Gimmie a sec." Her voice is strained and he can tell she's trying to get her breathing under control. "Okay. Okay I'm ready." 

Clint keeps his cool for the first bit, feeling her lube-slick finger pressing into his ass with all the same confidence she used to have. And now he feels another, feels her straightening up and getting into a rhythm. Clint lets himself relax, moaning without much inhibition into the pillow. Bobbi sighs happily behind him. 

She's working in four fingers by the time he's about ready to beg for it. Either the dildo or her fist one of the two -- and _fuck_ if he doesn't remember that now, too -- before she finally settles behind him and he feels the wet head of the toy pressing between his cheeks. "Bobbi--"

"God I love you like this." 

There's too much of a pause between "you" and "like" for Clint to stay quiet. He groans. He wants to tell her. He won't. 

She starts fucking him in earnest, talking to him between thrusts. Clint can't really hear what she's saying, but she could probably get him to hand over every dime in his back account at the point. He just wants to come. He wants to come and he wants to make her come. Wants to watch her come. Clint just wants to watch her. He wants to hold her and fuck her open with his fingers until she's wet and dripping down his hand and he wants to press his entire fist into the deepest part of her and hold it there until she spasms around him. Thinking about her cunt, dripping and tight. Thinking about her mouth hanging open and his name spilling from her lips. Clint hears himself beg for more, hears the word _harder_ fall from his mouth and Bobbi's gasping for breath now, _ClintClintClintClint_ \--

She reaches around him, wraps her hand around his cock and says, "Come," and he does. She tells him to come and he comes when she wants him to. 

Clint is aware that someone has been banging on the wall for several minutes. Bobbi bangs back. Clint can hardly move. He falls into his own wetspot and hears her undoing the buckle. "You good?" he asks, hoarse. 

"I'll take care of it--"

"Bullshit." Clint grabs the harness from her hands and tosses it somewhere across the room. "C'mere."

" _Clint_ \--" He urges her gently onto her back and flattens his tongue against her clit, pushing her legs over his shoulders. She fucks herself against his mouth until she comes, shouting and still banging back on the wall. Someone's getting a letter from the landlord tomorrow. 

When Bobbi finally collects herself, she looks down at Clint between her legs -- and what a sight he must be, mouth and chin wet, face red and hair at a hundred angles -- and pulls him up to her, kissing him and licking herself off his lips. Clint could imagine himself getting hard again, just thinking about that. But that's definitely not happening. 

"We're gettin' old, Birdie."

"Speak for yourself, Hawkeye." She grins and kisses him, hiking a blanket over them and closing her eyes. Clint feels a pang of nostalgia -- they used to spend afternoons in bed back in LA when it would rain, when there was peace. They'd spend the day naked, fucking when they wanted to, making love until it was dark. Then they'd spend the night out. Dancing, busting up a mugging, saving the world. They'd stay awake for days, drinking coffee and kissing in public and punching things in the face. He loved her. She told him she loved him back.

It was a lot like this. 

Outside, it's still raining.

 

 

"So how many years have you been around? Dead and back. Leader here, leader there. Ronin, Hawkeye." Bobbi scrapes her food into the garbage. "And you _still_ cannot seem to make me a decent batch of French toast?" Clint opens his mouth to argue. Instead he gets her lips on his and he's kind of done saying anything else. 

For a while they just stand there, even when she's pulled back, her arms resting carefully on his shoulders. He was always so much bigger than her, but he's skinnier than he used to be. Leaner. Older. Bonier in places, like his hips and his cheeks. There's a touch of grey, just over his ears. Not even thirty-five. And here they are. This life, you know. It takes as much as you give it. And Clint.

He's always given it his all.

"We gonna start over, Birdie? You and me?"

"Dunno."

"We could. Pretend like it's the first day of the rest of our lives."

"It isn't," she says softly, tracing the bottom him of his tshirt with her thumb. "It hasn't been for a while." 

"I love you." He holds his fingers under her chin, meeting her gaze. "I know I shouldn't. But I do."

"Why though?"

"You asking me why I love you?"

"No." Bobbi untangles her arms from behind his head. "I mean...why shouldn't you?"

"Because we called it quits. Because that was the choice we made together."

"Pretty sure we were making choices together last night."

"True." Clint sighs. "I don't want to say it didn't _mean_ anything. But it doesn't always _have_ to."

"You're being stupid."

"It's one of my default settings. Can't seem to turn it off."

Bobbi laughs. "Right. I forget sometimes." She turns away. "I want it to mean something," she says, quieter. "Don't really understand why it can't."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"That's just what we do."

"I don't want that to be what we do. I want us to do something different. I want to _try_ this. But I want to try something...something new."

Bobbi turns back to him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. C'mere." He pulls her into his arms again. "Think about it. I will, too. And maybe...maybe we _can_ pretend."

"First day of the rest of our lives?" she asks, serious this time.

"Yeah. First day." He kisses her. "First kiss." 

"Mmmm, does last night count as our first time?"

"Dunno. You wanting to let that be the next one?"

Bobbi grins. "After you, Hawkeye."

"Oh no, Mockingbird. After you." She laughs and walks ahead of him, pulling him back into the bedroom. "I insist."


End file.
